That night the Towers was heavy with an atmosphere of gloom. The Squire
had remained the whole evening sunk in his chair, not reading, or
smoking, speechless, his head bent upon his breast. He had heard from
his lawyer that all efforts to transfer the mortgage had as yet proved
fruitless: nobody wanted a bond on barren land. The next day but one
was Christmas, and the Squire brooded on the melancholy thought that it
would be the last Christmas he would spend in his old home. Occasionally
he glanced at the motto inscribed above the lintel of the door:
Trevanion, whate'er thy Fortune be,
Hold fast the Rock by the Western Sea.
What a mockery the old legend seemed! He had held fast; now he felt as
though some inexorable power were unclenching his nerveless fingers.
And the bitterness of his mood was intensified by the foreboding that
the old house, and his last rood of land, would go, as all the rest had
gone, into the hands of the man who had disgraced his name, and who bore
him implacable enmity.
Dick went to bed early, sick at heart, unable to endure the mute misery
upon his parents' faces. He meant to rise before it was light, for a
purpose which, he sadly felt, he might never accomplish again. It had
been his custom for several years to carry to the Parsonage on Christmas
Eve a basket of fish of his own catching, as a present to his good
friend the Vicar. It was a poor gift, but he had not the means to offer
anything better, and Mr. Carlyon was always pleased with it, regarding
the spirit in which the simple offering was made.
About an hour before dawn he wakened Sam, and after nibbling a crust,
the two boys set off. Experience had taught them that this was the best
time to fish at so late a season of the year. The air was damp and raw,
with scarcely any wind, and as they issued from the house they shivered,
and buttoned their coats high about their necks.
"We must go to the Beal for some tackle, Sam," said Dick. "That will
warm us before we go down to the boat."
"Iss. I wish it were to-morrer. Pa'son's dinner will be summat to
cheer a poor feller up, these wisht and dismal times. Do 'a think, now,
Maister Dick, as we'll ever hev a real Christmas randy up at Towers,
same as they do hev at Portharvan?"
"I'm afraid not, Sam. I'm afraid we shan't spend another Christmas at
the Towers."
"Well, then, you and I had better go for sojers or sailors. I'm afeard
I bean't high enough for a sojer. But sailors get prize-money, old Joe
says, and I'd like that, 'cos then I could buy a thing or two for Maidy
Susan--and Mistress, too: I wouldn' forget she. Maybe I'd get killed,
fightin' the French, but dear life! it wouldn' matter much: we hain't
got many friends. I don't s'pose Maidy Susan 'ud fall more 'n two
tears, or maybe three."
"None at all, I should think," said Dick.
"Oh, I don't think so bad o' she as that. When I seed her yesterday she
said she wished I could go to Dower House to-night. Maister John be
goin' to a randy at Portharvan; he'll kiss his young 'ooman under the
mistletoe, I reckon."
"And Susan wants you to go to the Dower House and kiss her, I suppose?"
"Now that's too bad, Maister. We bean't neither of us so forward as
that. Maidy said she'd like me to go up-along and gie un some o' my
merry talk, but jown me if my tongue 'ud run merry wi' things so bad up
to home."
"You couldn't go: Father would never allow it. You'll have to be
satisfied with the Vicar's nuts and candy, Sam."
They came to their den at the end of the Beal, and remained there for
some little time arranging their tackle in the wan glimmer preceding the
dawn. Then they emerged, and climbed up beside the big boulder to take
a look at the sea, over which a thin mist hung.
"Isn't that the _Isaac and Jacob_?" said Dick, pointing to a vessel
tacking to make the fairway between the cliff and the reef.
"Iss, sure. Tonkin be come home wi'out a cargo, seemin'ly, unless he
hev run it a'ready."
They watched the lugger creeping slowly toward the harbour. The tide
was on the ebb, and there was not enough depth of water upon the reef to
allow the vessel to head straight for the jetty. As she crept into the
fairway Dick was struck with the unusual appearance of her deck.
Amidships it was almost clear except for two or three men; but, herded
under the low bulwarks on the weather side, out of sight from the
harbour, were a score or more of men whom he recognised by slight
indications in their dress to be foreigners. Almost instinctively Dick
slipped behind the boulder, pulling Sam with him.
"That's very curious," he whispered, standing so that he could see
without being seen.
On the lee side of the vessel, he noticed arms, legs, and here and there
a red-capped head protruding from beneath tarpaulins, thrown with
apparent carelessness on the deck. Two or three heads also appeared in
the hatchway, suggesting that other men were on the companion below.
But what struck Dick most of all was the fact that although Nathan
Pendry held the tiller, there lolled against the bulwarks near him a
stranger whose hat and coat were manifestly Cornish, but whose lower
garments were as unmistakably of foreign cut. He was a short, stout
man, and he held a pistol, which was pointed at the helmsman.
Dick was so much fascinated and wonderstruck by this extraordinary
spectacle that for a few moments he neither spoke nor stirred.
"Be it Boney at last?" whispered Sam, his eyes wide with alarm.
"No, no: Boney would bring thousands. But I can't make it out. We'll
run home, Sam, and tell Father."
Creeping round the boulder, and dipping their heads as long as there was
any chance of being observed from the lugger, they set off at a
breakneck run for the Towers. Dick dashed up to the Squire's room, and
knocked at the door.
"Come in," said the Squire. He was awake--had indeed lain sleepless
almost all night, thinking miserably of his affairs.
"Father," said Dick, entering, "Tonkin's lugger has just put in with a
gang of Frenchmen on board. Pendry is at the helm; there's a fellow
standing over him with a pistol. I didn't see Tonkin."
"What on earth does that mean?" cried the Squire, starting up. "Get me
my boots, Dick; I'll pull on some clothes, and go up on the roof to take
a look at them."
In a few minutes the Squire, Dick, and Sam were behind the parapet of
the principal tower, the Squire with his telescope in his hand. Lofty
as their perch was, the jetty and the lower part of the village were not
in sight, being concealed by the contour of the hill. But they could
see the upper houses and the cliffs beyond; the church tower and the red
roof of the Parsonage away to the left; and almost every yard of ground
between the hilltop and the Towers.
"Shall I ring bell, Maister?" asked Sam.
"No; wait a little. We don't want to make ourselves a laughing-stock.
There's nothing in Polkerran to make it worth any Frenchman's while
to--Ha! I see it all. 'Tis a trick of Mildmay's, the sly dog. Do you
see, Dick? He has disguised himself and his men as Frenchmen, and
pounced on Tonkin's lugger with a fine crop aboard. Ha! ha! The neatest
feat I ever heard of."
"I'm rather doubtful about that, sir," said Dick. "The faces I saw
weren't Cornish."
"It would be a poor disguise if they were. You may be sure I'm right,
and we shall have Mildmay coming up to breakfast by-and-by with a fine
tale of tubs. I slept badly, Dick; I'll return to my bed for an hour or
two."
Dick remained with Sam on the roof. He was not at all convinced that
his father was right. It was difficult to conceive what object a band
of Frenchmen could have in attacking so small a village, yet he felt
sure that they were Frenchmen, and that their visit was not an ordinary
smuggling affair. After a long look through his spy-glass he said to
Sam:
"There's no smoke, no sound of firing---no noise at all. We can't see
anything here, Sam; let us take a run to the Beal again."
But at that moment he saw a man rise over the crest of the hill;
immediately behind him came others. They were armed with muskets and
cutlasses, and advanced rapidly and in a manner that suggested a
definite goal.
"Off to the turret and pull the bell, Sam!" cried Dick. He rushed
downstairs to his father's room again.
"Thirty or forty armed men are marching from the village, sir," he said.
"I think they're coming to attack us."
"Bless my soul, what fools they must be!" said the Squire with a
mirthless laugh. "There's nothing here worth firing a shot for. Ah!
there's the bell. We'll see if 'tis more effective than last time we
rang it. And we'll give them a warm reception, my boy, by George we
will! Go and bring Reuben to me."
So crowded was the next hour, and so conflicting were the accounts given
subsequently, in all honesty, by actors in the drama, that the writing
of a clear and coherent narrative is a matter of some difficulty. Mr.
Carlyon diligently questioned everyone who could throw a light on the
separate incidents, and out of this material compiled a long chapter for
his history of the parish. But the prolixity of his style, and his
habit of interrupting his narrative with classical parallels and
references to abstruse authors, render his book quite unsuitable to the
present age, and make it necessary to treat his manuscript as the modern
historian treats his sources.
When the _Isaac and Jacob_ was moored alongside the jetty, the
tarpaulins that covered the deck were thrown aside, the men whom they
had concealed sprang to their feet, and, joined by others who swarmed up
the companion way, rushed ashore behind their leader, Jean Delarousse of
Roscoff. There were but two or three of the Polkerran folk visible. A
large number of the fishers were five or six miles away, having affairs
of their own to attend to. The majority of the population were still
abed. A dozen miners, due for the day shift in an hour's time, were
breakfasting. Only the smoke rising into the air from the chimneys of
their cottages gave sign of life.
The few men who were out and about fled incontinently to their homes at
sight of the fifty determined Frenchmen, armed with muskets, cutlasses,
and pistols, advancing across the few yards of open space that separated
the jetty from the nearest houses. It was evident that the invaders had
prearranged their operations. Twelve of their number separated from the
main body and went off hastily in couples, three to the right, three to
the left, until they reached the last dwelling in either direction.
Then doubling up the hills to right and left, they posted themselves
around the village in a half circle, at intervals of about a hundred
yards. Their object manifestly was to prevent any villager from
breaking through, and carrying news of the raid into the country beyond.
The Dower House and the Towers were naturally not included in the
cordon.
While this movement was being carried out, Delarousse led the rest of
his force straight to the Five Pilchards. The door was already open;
the miners usually paid an early visit to the inn before they started
for their work. Delarousse on entering was confronted by an elderly
woman of shrewish aspect, who stood like a dragon behind the shining
taps.
"Ze Towers, vere Trevanion live--it is zat big house on ze cliff?" he
asked.
Mrs. Doubledick nodded. Fright bereft her of speech.
"Vere is Doubledick?" asked the Frenchman.
The answer was a shake of the head; whereupon Delarousse, ejaculating
"Ah, bah!" returned to his followers, who were collected about the
entrance, and led all but six of them up the hill. Like a prudent
general, he took care to secure his communications.
Though he presumed that Mrs. Doubledick's shake of the head signified
ignorance of her husband's whereabouts, in this he was in error.
Doubledick had returned home late at night, unaware of the impending
crisis in his affairs. His wife gave him Mr. Polwhele's message, and he
anticipated a very pleasant interview with the riding-officer on his
return from circumventing the smugglers. Rising early, he happened to
see from his bedroom window the crowd of Frenchmen swarming from the
lugger, and without waiting to finish dressing, he ran down to the
taproom, pulled up a trap-door behind the bar, and descended into the
capacious cellar beneath, having strictly charged his wife not to reveal
his whereabouts. He was shaking with fear, rather of possible
consequences which his imagination foresaw than of immediate bodily
harm. Delarousse could scarcely fail to discover before long that
Doubledick had given him misleading information, and he was a man whose
wrath it was not wise to face.
Between thirty and forty Frenchmen, strong, hardy fellows, marched
rapidly up the hill behind their leader, whose agility was remarkable in
one so corpulent. They had just risen upon the crest when the clang of
a bell struck upon their ears.
"En avant, mes gars!" cried Delarousse. "Courez, a toutes jambes!"
And being on fairly level ground, they broke into a double.
The Squire, being now convinced that the Towers, as the most conspicuous
dwelling-house in the neighbourhood, was the object of the Frenchmen's
raid, displayed none of that indecision and vacillation which so often
beset him in the matters of every-day life. He was now keen, alert, and
ready, as became a man who had served in the King's navy. He smiled
grimly as he saw the Frenchmen hasting towards him, as yet half a mile
away. "A pack of fools!" he thought; "but 'tis hard that I should be
molested when on the brink of ruin."
In a few sharp, decisive words he bade Dick and Reuben close and bolt
the doors and shutters, and haul against the former such heavy articles
of furniture as they could move in the few minutes at their disposal.
Meanwhile he himself collected several old muskets that were at hand,
with powder and slugs, in some cases relics of ancient trophies of arms
treasured by the family. If he could hold the enemy at bay even for a
short time, their project would be ruined, for the alarm bell and the
sound of shots would arouse the whole countryside, and unless the
invaders were supported by other vessels, they must soon retire to the
lugger. At the first glance he had seen that they were not French
regular soldiers, and concluded that their landing was not the foretaste
of a general invasion, but merely a chance filibustering raid.
In the turret Sam was pulling the bell-rope with short, quick jerks.
His brain was in a whirl. The advance of the Frenchmen was hidden from
him, but looking out of the narrow window in the opposite direction, he
spied, less than a minute after the first clang, Joe Penwarden hurrying
along towards the Towers as fast as his old legs would carry him.
Running to the opposite side of the chamber, where a door admitted to
the house, he yelled down the stairs:
"Maister, here be old Joe a-comin'. Let un in by the back door."
"Run, Dick," said the Squire, "you're quickest. An addition to the
garrison is welcome."
Dick flew to the back door, whither Sam had summoned Penwarden through
the turret window. During these few seconds the strokes of the bell were
very irregular, but they did not cease.
"What is it, Maister Dick?" said the old man, as Dick closed and
barricaded the door behind him.
"A gang of Frenchmen are running to attack us. They landed from
Tonkin's lugger about ten minutes ago. Go to Father, Joe; he's in the
front room over the porch. I'm going to the roof to see what they are
doing."
He leapt up the stairs three at a time, and emerged on the leads of the
tower, whence, sheltered by the parapet, he could observe the enemy in
safety. They were now within two or three hundred yards of the house.
Dick was surprised that there was no sign of pursuers from the village.
Now that the feeling between his family and the people was less acute,
he had expected that the bell would already have summoned a concourse of
fishers, miners, and men of all occupations. He was surprised, too,
that the alarm was not echoed by the new bell which had recently been
rigged up in the Dower House. Surely at such a moment personal feuds
might well be forgotten, and private enemies unite to beat off a public
foe. But between the Towers and the hill not a man was to be seen
except the advancing Frenchmen. At the Dower House there was no sign of
life or movement, a strange circumstance that set him wondering. Why
was not John Trevanion alarmed at a French raid? Was it possible that
he knew of it beforehand, approved it, had even arranged it? Having
failed in some of his schemes hitherto, had he now joined hands with
alien filibusters to deal his cousin a crowning stroke?
As his eyes ranged round, Dick suddenly caught sight of a large vessel
looming in the mist in a straight line with the head of the Beal. Its
shape was very indistinct and blurred, but there was a certain
familiarity in its aspect, and a sudden conviction flashed upon Dick
that it was the same vessel as he had seen twice before in unusual and
mysterious circumstances. Surely it must be the notorious privateer,
the _Aimable Vertu_, owned by Jean Delarousse. Why it should have come
to an insignificant place like Polkerran, when it might have gained rich
prizes on the high seas, was a question that puzzled him greatly, unless
Trevanion had made an alliance with the Frenchman.
The Squire's dispositions to meet the threatening attack were as good as
could be devised, having regard to the short breathing-space allowed
him, and to the nature of his situation. A large rambling building like
the Towers could not be held for any length of time by a slender
garrison of five. There were half-a-dozen points at which it could be
assaulted simultaneously--the front door facing the village, the back
door facing the sea, the stable-yard, the offices, the rooms and
passages in the ruined portion. But the principal tower, flanking the
porch, was in passable repair, and it was there that the Squire had
determined to make a final stand. It contained two or three rooms
approached by a stone staircase springing from near the front door.
Mrs. Trevanion was sent by her husband to the topmost room. He posted
himself, with Reuben and Penwarden, in the room over the porch, where
the window-shutters had been loopholed, no doubt by some former owner of
the Towers, though the Squire had never given the matter a thought.
Dick he sent to the back of the house, instructing him to call Sam to
his help if he saw fit.
"Neither for fire nor battle does the bell summon aid," he said
bitterly. "Sam may as well save his energies."
His final instruction was that if the Frenchmen broke in, as seemed only
too probable, they should all retreat to the tower, the entrance to
which from the staircase was protected by a heavy, iron-studded oaken
door. Believing that the invaders' object was loot and not slaughter,
he scarcely anticipated personal damage, but supposed that the garrison
would be allowed to remain in the tower unmolested while the rest of the
house was sacked.
Delarousse, panting a little from his exertions, was as much alive to
the risks and perils of his enterprise as the Squire could be. Success
or failure hung upon minutes. But he had not earned his reputation as a
daring and resourceful privateer undeservedly. His object was a very
simple one. It was not bloodshed or rapine, but merely the seizure of
the man who had grievously wronged him--John Trevanion, or, as he had
known him in Roscoff, Robinson. Doubledick, to feed his private malice,
had declared that John Trevanion lived in the Towers--the largest house
upon the cliff. The Frenchman's little knowledge of the country had
been gained solely by observation from the sea, and by the faint
glimpses he had obtained on that dark and rainy night when he evaded the
pursuit of the dragoons. He remembered that the house at whose door he
had seen his enemy was nearer the top of the hill than the Towers; but
he had no reason to doubt Doubledick's statement that the latter was now
the residence of John Trevanion, and no one had told him that there were
other Trevanions who had no dealings with John. It was therefore his
whole-hearted belief that the Towers sheltered his bitterest foe which
inspired his attack upon a man who had never injured him.
Utterly possessed by his purpose, he wasted no time in a vain summons to
surrender. The bell was still clanging overhead. He had taken
precautions to prevent interference from the village, where the absence
of so many men on the scene of the expected run favoured his design.
But he was not to know but that the summons might draw armed men from
every corner of the neighbourhood beyond the village, and his blow must
be struck at once. Accordingly he made straight for the porch, and
finding, as he had expected, that the door was fast closed, he put his
pistol to the lock, and with one shot shattered it to splinters. But
the door was held also by bolts and crossbars resting in staples, and
further secured by a sideboard placed against it by Dick and Reuben, so
that the breaking of the lock availed him nothing. Brought thus to a
check, he stood for a few moments within the porch among his men to
consider his next step.
Meanwhile the Squire at the last moment had hurried to the top of the
tower, with a double object: to observe the movements of the enemy more
clearly than was possible through the loophole of a shuttered window,
and to scan the surrounding country for any sign of assistance. No one
was at present in sight. The air was heavy; the wind was off shore; and
in all probability the sound of the bell had not even reached
Nancarrow's farm, the nearest house except the Parsonage, much less Sir
Bevil Portharvan's place, two miles farther away.
He had given instructions before leaving Penwarden that the French were
not to be fired on until they opened hostilities. With his wife in the
building, he was determined not to draw upon himself by any premature
act the reprisals of so formidable a gang of desperadoes. Now that the
Frenchmen were within the porch, they were immune from musket fire, and
he began to wonder whether his prohibition was not a mistake. As soon,
however, as he heard the report of Delarousse's pistol, with a rapidity
that might have surprised those who had only known him of late years,
the Squire seized a large block of loose stone that formed part of the
half-ruined parapet, and toppled it over on to the roof of the porch
below. It fell upon the tiles with a tremendous crash, scattering
fragments in all directions, and bounded off on to the gravel path.
Though none of the Frenchmen was struck by the stone itself, or even by
the splinters of the tiles, it was sufficiently alarming to drive them
from the porch, and they scurried instantly into the open. Two muskets
flashed upon them from the loopholes above; one man was hit by a slug,
and hopped away on one leg, assisted by his comrades. At the same
moment the bell ceased to clang. Hearing the shots, Sam rushed down the
stairs to take his part in the fray. The whole body of Frenchmen had
now withdrawn out of range, and the Squire saw the little stout man,
their leader, carefully scanning the building, with the object, no
doubt, of finding a weak spot to attack. Only two minutes had elapsed
since the enemy made the first move.
Alarmed at the sudden silence of the bell, from which he concluded that
its clanging had achieved its object, Delarousse despatched one of his
men to the high ground northward to report the approach of any armed
force. Meanwhile he himself made a rapid circuit of the Towers,
keeping, if not out of range, at least beyond easy-hitting distance.
The back entrance seemed to him a vulnerable point, and the more
promising, because it was not commanded by the tower, but only by the
small window at which Dick was stationed. His ill-success at the front
door made him resolute to go the shortest way to work at the back. He
sent half-a-dozen men across the open stable-yard into the half-ruined
stable to haul down one of the stout balks of wood that supported the
roof, for use as a battering-ram. This movement was concealed from Dick
by the angle of the building.
While his men were gone about this errand, Delarousse, impatient of the
loss of time, took it into his head to summon the garrison to surrender.
He trotted back to the front of the building, set his legs apart, and,
lifting his eyes to the top of the tower, shouted a loud "Hola!" The
Squire showed his head above the parapet, but did not reply.
"Hola!" repeated the Frenchman. "Trevanion! Render Trevanion; zen I
go."
"A trick!" thought the Squire. "He thinks I'm worth a ransom!"
"Trevanion!" cried Delarousse again. "Ze ozers I not touch."
"I'll see what they say," shouted the Squire. "Anything to gain time,"
he thought.
Going to the door opening on the staircase he called for Dick.
"This fellow wants me, Dick," he said. "Goodness knows why! I suppose
he imagines some rich imbecile will buy me back. If I surrender myself,
he promises to spare the rest. Just run and see what your mother says:
my old bones don't take kindly to those stairs."
Before Dick returned Delarousse lost patience and shouted for an answer.
The Squire kept out of sight.
"Mother says you must not think of it for a moment," said Dick, running
up again. "I knew she would."
"To tell the truth, so did I," replied his father. "But we have gained
two or three minutes. Now to decline as civilly as possible--though he
might at least Mounseer me, I think."
As soon as his head reappeared above the parapet, Delarousse shouted:
"Eh bien! You render Jean Trevanion?"
Father and son looked at each other. Dick's face expressed surprise
mingled with relief; a strange smile sat upon the Squire's countenance.
"We give up nobody," he called down firmly. "Do your worst."
Dick thrilled with filial pride. It was a lesson in chivalry that he
never forgot. A word from his father, he could not doubt, would have
sent the Frenchmen in hot haste to the Dower House; but that word the
Squire could not speak, even though John Trevanion was his worst enemy.
Delarousse spat out an oath, shook his fist at the impassive gentleman
above him, and toddled off to the back, disappearing behind the
outhouses.
"We'll see what the rascal is after now," said the Squire quickly, and
followed Dick down the stairs.
For a minute or two the further proceedings of the assailants were
hidden from view. Then the watchers saw, coming round the corner from
the stables, four men bearing a stout twelve-foot post. Delarousse,
immediately behind, urged them on with voluble utterance and vigorous
play of hands.
"A battering-ram!" said the Squire. "I think, Dick, 'tis time to give
them a warning."
Dick lifted his musket and fired through a loophole upon the men rushing
forward. There was a cry from below; the effect of the shot could not
be seen through the smoke; it was answered by a score of bullets
pattering on the shutters. The Squire placed his musket to a second
loophole. It was impossible to take aim; he fired at random; and
another sharp cry seemed to tell that his slug had gone home. A babel
of shouts arose. Peeping through the loopholes they saw that one of the
four men bearing the post lay on the ground; he had let fall his end of
the battering-ram. At the same moment there came the distant crackle of
a fusillade. The sound goaded Delarousse to fury. He rushed forward to
lift the dropped end of the post. But just as he was stooping, there
was a loud shout from his left. He turned his head, without rising from
the ground, and what he saw, in common with the spectators above, was
three men half pushing, half dragging a fourth towards the leader of the
party. Delarousse remained in his stooping posture, as though
transfixed with amazement, while a man might count four. Then,
springing to his feet, he rushed headlong towards the approaching group,
drawing a pistol as he ran.
[Illustration: "DELAROUSSE RUSHED HEADLONG TOWARDS THE APPROACHING
GROUP."]
Up to that moment the fourth man had been passive in the hands of the
three; but as soon as he caught sight of Delarousse leaping towards him,
he jerked himself violently from the grasp of his captors, felled first
one, then a second, with sledgehammer blows from right and left, and,
slipping from the hands of the third, dashed with extraordinary speed
along by the stable wall in the direction of the village. In ten
seconds he was out of sight, and the whole band of Frenchmen, yelling
fiercely, some discharging their pistols, turned their backs upon the
Towers and doubled after the fugitive.
Dick darted from the room, and up the stairs to the roof, Sam hard upon
his heels, the Squire following at a pace that belied his melancholy
allusion to his old bones. Penwarden also, hearing Sam's jubilant shout
at the raising of the siege, left his post at the front, and clambered
up after the others, muttering "Dear life! what a mix-up the world is!"
Leaning over the parapet, the four watched the strangest chase that ever
was seen. The fugitive came to the wicket-gate leading out of the
grounds, and took it with a flying leap, with the crowd of Frenchmen in
full cry behind him. Some, like Delarousse himself, bore a burden of
flesh and forty years; others were younger and slimmer, and these,
impelled by the furious cries of their leader, leapt the gate in turn,
the last of them catching his foot in the top and coming sprawling to
the ground.
Their quarry, crossing a strip of land that still belonged to the
Squire, came to the fence recently erected around the grounds of the
Dower House. It was six feet high, a formidable obstacle to a man of his
bulk and years. He clutched the top of it, heaved himself up, rolled
across it sideways, and disappeared on the other side, wrenching the
tail of his coat from the hands of the foremost Frenchman. In a trice
the pursuer scrambled up after him, threw himself over, and also
disappeared. Of the other members of his party, some scaled the
obstacle with more or less facility; others, baulked by it, ran to right
and left to find a path. Delarousse, whose stature and build forbade
any athletic feat, yet disdained to leave the direct course, and called
to two of his men to hoist him up. For an instant he sat swaying on the
top of the fence; then he too dropped like a falling sack. Of all the
thirty odd Frenchmen there were now only two or three to be seen.
But in a minute or two the hunt again came fully into view from the
lofty tower. The fugitive sped along with amazing swiftness, making a
straight line for the Dower House. Behind him, strung at intervals over
two fields, poured the impetuous Frenchmen. One or two were close at
his heels; the rest followed, each according to his ability.
"They've catched un!" cried Sam, his eyes dilated with excitement. "No,
be-jowned if they have. Got away! Yoick! Yo-hoy! Now then, Frenchy!
Ah, I thought ye'd do it, now you've smashed yerself. No, he's up again!
Halloo!"
The side door of the Dower House stood half-open. The fugitive drew
nearer and nearer to it; the pursuers seemed to make still more violent
exertions to overtake him before he reached it. A few yards more! Ah!
he was inside: the door was closing. But before it was quite shut, the
first pursuer flung himself forward and thrust his musket within. To
close the door was now impossible. For a few seconds the Frenchman
appeared to be engaged in a fierce trial of strength with the persons
inside. Two or three of his companions joined him; they threw
themselves together upon the door; it yielded; and they dashed into the
house.